


Loss of control

by Gwendelan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Omorashi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2270514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwendelan/pseuds/Gwendelan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek comes home absolutely dying for a pee. Stiles happens to be there.<br/>Sex ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The light turns orange then red just yards before he reaches the crossroads and he swears, hitting the brakes and pressing his legs even tighter together.

He's not going to make it home.

He's been dying to piss for what seems like hours, but there hasn't been any time to stop, or any place to go.

He was shopping with Erica when he first felt the need to empty his bladder, but at the time it was nothing urgent, and his experiences with public restrooms were unpleasant at best what with his enhanced sense of smell. So he held it.

Then Scott had called about some kind of disturbance in the east suburb area and he had gone, abandonning Erica to her shopping bags, to help his beta investigate something that smelled like a whale had died and stayed in the sun to rot for days.

The stench still lingers in his nostrils.

Two hours later and he still hasn't taken a much needed leak, the residential suburbs making it impossible for him to just whip it out and piss against a tree, risking an arrest for public indecency and a fresh entry in his already not so clean record. He's seriously hoping Scott hasn't noticed anything, because he was squirming the whole ride back to his car, desperately trying not to leak in his pants but unwilling to face the humiliation of having to grab his crotch like a five-year old, because he's Scott's alpha and he doesn't know how he would have handled being that vulnerable in front of his beta.

But now, he's in his own car, and any concept of shame or pride has flown right out the window. He's got a hand squeezed tight around his dick and he's constantly wriggling on his seat, cursing the stop signs and red lights and too slow cars and hoping that he'll make it back to the loft with his dignity intact.

Finally, he's able to find a spot in his parking lot and he makes the turn in a squeel of tires, tearing the key from the ignition and almost breaking the door open in his haste to get out. Alas, right as he gets up from his seat, gravity catches up with his bladder and he has to bend over, thighs pushed as tight together as they can, one hand buried deep between his legs as he gasps and tries with all his might not to wet his pants.

After a few seconds of uncertainty, he seems to gain back some semblance of control and immediately starts to shuffle over to the building's entrance, thankful that he has only a bunch of neighbors and that none of them would recognize him should they pass him by. He hits the elevator button and waits in agony as the cabin slowly makes its descent to the ground floor, but there is no way he will be able to make it up to the tenth floor without spraying piss all over the stairway carpet, so he waits, twisting his legs and dancing on the spot, panting with how much it hurts to breathe in any deeper.

Finally the elevator doors open and he hurries inside, hits the tenth floor button and shoves both hands in his crotch, a physical barrier to contain the gallons of fluid gathered in his bladder. He whines between clenched teeth as the cabin jolts up and threatens to make him lose control, but only a small spurt of piss manages to escape and dampen his boxers, and he has to count it as a win, because he simply doesn't know how it's possible that he's still holding.

The doors open and he walks as fast as he can to his loft, his trembling hand missing the lock several times before the key slips in the hole at last and he's rushing inside -

He has to stop abruptly in the middle of his hallway because of a particularly vicious spasm that results in a long spurt of piss right into his boxers, and he's convinced that if he takes one more step, he'll just soak his pants. God, he needs to go, has never needed to piss so bad in his life, he's literally a couple of meters away from release, and he can't make himself move.

He crosses his legs firmly, gives his dick a tight squeeze and forces himself to breathe, to regain control -

That's when he realizes that he's not alone in the appartment, someone whose smell he knows very well, someone he really doesn't want to see right now, but there's no escaping, no other choice, he won't be able to move anywhere but closer to the bathroom and there is no way to go there without being seen from either the kitchen or the living room, where the intruder must be.

That's when Stiles jumps out of nowhere to greet him.

"Hey Derek! Scott called me about the mysterious dead seal you found, thought I'd come here early to help you research it and why..."

His words trail off as he realizes what he's seeing, Derek holding himself up with a hand against the wall and the other deep into his wet-stained crotch, legs twisted together, doubled over and sweating with the effort it takes to not burst on the spot – either with piss or in tears, at this point he's not so sure anymore.

"Dude. You, uh... you need a piss?"

The death glare the alpha sends his way is answer enough, and he holds up both hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay, stupid question. Bathroom's right here, man, you should go before you explode."

"Can't." Derek grits out, then whines out softly. "If I take one more step I'll piss all over myself. Fuck, Stiles, I need to go so fucking bad."

"Yeah, I can sort of see that. Um."

The human looks around for a handful of seconds, lost and not doing anything, not even making fun of him, so Derek tries to take a step, ends up leaking enough to wet halfway down his left thigh. He moans.

"Fuck, Stiles, go away, I'm gonna piss myself. Just go." He groans.

But Stiles is already running up the hallway and rummaging into the cleaning supplies, so Derek guesses there's no way to avoid complete humiliation.

"Hold on, I've got an idea. Don't move! Well, uh, I guess you're not going anywhere." The human shouts.

Derek rolls his eyes and holds on with all his might, bladder rock hard and throbbing in time with his pulse, unstoppably voiding drop by drop into his underwear, and he wonders why he's still waiting, since he's already wet. God, he just wants to piss, to let go, to feel his overstretched bladder retract and soften and finally be rid of the unhealthy amount of coffee he consumed.

But suddenly there's something pressing against his thighs and he opens his eyes to see a bucket. Stiles is holding it like he's expecting Derek to use it and after a second of bewilderment, the alpha is so grateful he could weep.

"Since you can't go to the bathroom, the bathroom comes to you!" The human jokes awkwardly. "Come on, Derek, use it, that way you won't make too much of a mess."

The werewolf is already tearing at his fly and fishing his dick through the slit in his boxers, uncaring that he's spurting piss all over his clothes in the meantime because that's it, that's it -

He lets go. The torrent of piss that sprays the bucket ricochets all over Stiles's hand, but he can't stop, can't even slow down now that he's started, after so many hours of holding back. He closes his eyes and leans all his weight against the wall, groaning in pleasure, unaware of the flaming red coloring his savior's cheeks.

"Fuck. Feels so good." He moans.

He feels like his knees are about to buckle, his legs shaking like he's run a marathon in half the record time, and Stiles must sense it because he slips his free arm around his waist and holds him up while he keeps the bucket steady with the other. Derek sighs, drops his head in the crook of the human's neck, and relaxes.

When he's done, an inordinate amount of time later, he feels weak and shaky, almost as though he just had an orgasm. He's amazed he made it home, even more that he's not ashamed that Stiles was there to witness his near humiliation, but most of all he's just overwhelmed with relief and a mild arousal that's more of a pleasurable aftershock to the experience than real horniness.

Stiles's heartrate, though, is going through the roof, and Derek opens his eyes to check that he's not having a panick attack of some sort, but the human's pupils are all black, dilated so wide that a mere sliver of golden brown remains, and he reeks of lust. He disentangles himself enough to settle the bucket securely on the floor, before turning to Derek, breathing fast, gaze running from his heavy-lidded eyes to the mess on his crotch and back again, and the alpha really doesn't know what to expect, but it's certainly not for Stiles to drop to his knees in front of him, yank both jeans and boxers down around his knees and swallow his half-hard and urine-covered cock whole.

He bites off a gasp.

"Stiles. What are you... what are you doing?"

They've never done anything like this before. There's always been tension between them, something they were both aware of but never acted on, except for a memorable occasion when Stiles kissed Derek after thinking him dead, before apologizing profusely. They never spoke of it again, never mentionned that it could go any further.

This, right now, is uncharted territory, and it's rocking Derek's whole world.

"You must really not get laid often enough if you have to ask." Stiles asks after drawing away with a loud, wet suction sound.

"Yeah, but you should... You should stop. I'm covered in piss."

Stiles moans around his dick, and the vibrations feel heavenly on his oversensitized skin.

"That's fucking hot. God, the way you look when you're that desperate, it's... And the sounds. Fuck, the sounds you made when you were finally pissing."

The human laps at his slit, laves all around his shaft and balls in kitten licks, and the werewolf feels like he could collapse from that sensation alone.

"You taste good." Stiles adds, his voice pitched low in a sultry drawl Derek never would have imagined possible. "Wanna know what you sound like and taste like when you come, too."

Derek whines, and it must sound like encouragement, because Stiles suddenly ups his game and sucks him all the way down to the base, settling into a fast and unforgiving rythm that has the alpha seeing stars in mere minutes.

Then a long, slender finger probes at his hole while a sure hand presses against his now deflated but still tender bladder, and he's gone.

He shouts as he comes down Stiles's throat, holding himself up with trembling hands on the human's shoulders, whining and tugging on his shirt when he gets oversensitive. Then Stiles is springing up and kissing him fiercely, mouth tasting of piss and come and himself, and Derek loses himself into it, giving back as much as he gets and slipping a thigh between Stiles's for the human to ride into oblivion.

They lean against the wall for a minute, both panting hard from the exertion and the high of orgasm, before Stiles finally speaks.

"I can't believe it took you almost pissing yourself for us to finally have sex." He chuckles. 

Derek snorts.

"Trust me. If I had known years ago that this would get you to blow me, I'd have made myself desperate around you all the time."

The human moans, can't help the hard thrust of his hips against Derek's thigh.

"Fuck. Next time, I'll ply you with water and coffee and make you hold it for hours while the others are there, until you're squirming and sweating and about to burst. I'll get you alone and suck you off and finger you open and rim you while you're desperate and whining for me to let you go. Then I'll fuck you through it. Might even make you hold it until you physically can't anymore. Then I'll dress you up, take you for a ride in your beloved Camaro and watch you piss all over yourself."

The elder gasps out loud and his dick twitches, makes a valliant effort at standing up, but even an alpha werewolf has a refractory period, however short. He presses his face against Stiles's neck and sucks a bruise in the tender flesh above his collarbone.

"Next time? I'll probably let you." He groans. "Now can we discuss the dating part of it all or is this relationship going to be based purely on really filthy sex?"

Stiles just laughs and kisses him again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> I might write a second chapter to this, but don't expect it anytime soon (I have to get over the shame of posting it first).
> 
> If you spot any mistakes, please let me know!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... I wrote it.  
> Porn with feelings, people!! Because I'm a giant sap. And a kinky bastard.
> 
> Soundtrack:  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dc8AfskFQFc  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zaVhipqTY9I

Stiles is a kinky, naughty, nasty bastard.

Derek shouldn't be so surprised, really, because the man is a living encyclopedia of everything sex-related and an opportunist, so he should have expected that Stiles would try almost anything once, and then try it again and again until he's sure the experience was conducted correctly before drawing his conclusions.

What surprises Derek the most, though, is how much he likes it.

Don't get him wrong. He's had many partners before, women and men both, some with whom sex was as far from vanilla as he thought it could get.

If they were the Himalaya of kinky sex, Stiles is the fucking moon.

In the first two weeks of their relationship alone, Stiles has fucked him against almost every surface of the loft, over the central console of his Camaro, in the backseat of the Jeep, in a public bathroom, and even once on a bench in the park at night. He's been blown in the elevator, fingered to orgasm in a changing cabin at the swimming pool, and even rimmed into oblivion in the back alley of the library. When Derek's behind the wheel, Stiles's hand will often find its way to his lap and stroke him to full hardness until the alpha has to stop the car because he's afraid he'll drive them into the ditch. He's been tied to the headboard of his bed and edged for hours, with vibrators against his balls and fingers up his ass and lips around his dick, real-lesbian porn playing in the background. Once, he was sitting on a barstool eating breakfast when Stiles got out of bed, straddled his lap, kissed him until he was dizzy with need and then rode him until he forgot his own name.

He loves the dating part of it too, of course, the fancy restaurants and drive-in cinema with too much popcorn and the trip to the beach to see the sunset, the ferris wheel when they were alone and Derek paid the technician to stop them when they reached the highest point. Apparently, he's a closeted romantic. That's okay, because Stiles is, too.

But the sex? Hell, he might be ruined for everyone else, because there's no way he'll find someone who's able to make him come like a freight train in two minutes flat just by whispering filth into his ear.

The pissplay doesn't make an appearance in their sex life for a while. Maybe it's because they have so many other kinks to explore. Probably because it's something they have to plan a little if they want to avoid the humiliation of everyone in the pack knowing about it, even if they have been pretty accepting of their complete lack of shame so far.

One lazy sunday morning after they stayed up late into the night drinking beers with the pack, they lay in bed for almost an hour after they wake, snuggling in the warm patch of sunlight filtering through the blinds and trading increasingly filthy kisses. Derek has been feeling his bladder protesting for a while, though, so he kisses the hollow of Stiles's neck and makes to get up to go to the bathroom, when he's stopped by an arm tightening around his waist.

"Stiles?"

"Hmmm. Wanna rim you."

If Derek wasn't hard already, he would probably feel the headrush from all his blood heading south at once.

"I'm completely on board with that plan, but I really need a piss, babe."

"I know."

Derek's heartbeat spikes and he swallows drily, his dick swelling even further into his boxers. Despite his body's obvious reaction, he can't help but panic a little, because wetting himself purely by accident was a thing, but consciously holding it through whatever Stiles has planned until he pisses all over the bed is something else entirely, and he doesn't want to disappoint Stiles, because it's clearly something he wants, but he's not sure he'll be able to see it through.

His nerves must show, because Stiles nudges his head from where it's buried in his collarbone.

"Derek. Hey, babe, come on, look at me."

Their gazes meet. In Stiles's eyes, he can only see lust, and affection, and love. The human's hand is stroking reassuringly up and down his back.

"If it's not something you want, it's okay. You know that, right? I'd never force something like that on you. I know we didn't discuss much of anything, but you've always looked like you were enjoying yourself, so I never really asked. But if there's something you don't like? You tell me, I stop, and that's the end of it. Okay?"

The obvious concern in Stiles's every move is what finally makes Derek's stomach unclench and he breathes out, nods, kisses his mate softly until the tension in his shoulders is gone.

"You've never forced me into anything, Stiles. You were right, I loved it all. I'm just not sure... You know. I already need to go pretty bad, and I don't know how long I'll be able to hold it, and I really don't want to disappoint you. There's also the whole bed-wetting thing. I'm not sure I want to sleep on a mattress that's going to reek of piss for weeks."

"No bed-wetting, I promise. As for how long you can hold it, it's up to you, okay? The moment you think it's too much, you let go, I won't be disappointed. I'll probably think it's hot as hell. The last thing I want is to hurt you, or for you not to enjoy yourself. You don't have to hold it for my benefit, okay? I want you to hold it because you want to, because it feels good."

There is so much conviction in Stiles's voice that the last of his anxiety dissolves immediately, and he smiles, presses a grateful kiss to the human's lips, before bending down to suck a bruise above his pectoral.

"It does feel good." He whispers, sultry, trying to bring their mood back to the game.

Under his lips, Stiles's heart skips a beat.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The next moment, he's pressed back into the mattress, a thigh settling between his own, and captured in a hungry kiss that tastes a little like both of their morning breaths, but Derek doesn't care, because it's them, and it's a taste he wants to wake up to every morning for the rest of their lives.

Stiles is holding himself up on his elbows, but he slowly rolls his hips down against Derek's, and the movement increases the pressure in his bladder, makes him break the kiss to take a hissing breath.

"That bad already?" Stiles asks, playful.

The werewolf takes the time to regain his control, tightens his legs around the one that's pressed against his crotch, until the urge passes.

"No, I'm fine. Just surprised, is all."

"Huh uh. And if I do this..."

One of his hands trail down his torso until it's resting right above the noticeable swell of his stomach, and the mere idea of Stiles pushing down has Derek clenching his thighs again, head thrown back in a mix of pleasure and anticipation.

"God. You look so fucking sexy like this, Derek, you have no idea."

In the end, he doesn't press down, just teases the hard bulge with wandering fingertips and soft caresses, rewarded with barely audible sighs and moans, before he gracefully slides down the alpha's body until his shoulders are bracketed by Derek's knees and his mouth is hovering inches above his belly.

"Tell me what you want. Mouth? Fingers? Both?" He says, pressing a light kiss with a hint of tongue on his pulsing bladder.

"I want to piss." Is Derek's immediate answer. "God, I really need to. But it'd probably help if you sucked me off."

Stiles drags his already-sodden boxers down his legs and licks his rock-hard cock from root to tip before swirling his tongue over the sensitive head, and the werewolf lets out a whine, hips humping the air in search of friction, until suddenly Stiles is swallowing him whole and he gasps in ecstasy.

"Feels so fucking good." He moans.

He doesn't know where Stiles learnt his blowjob technique, is not sure he ever wants to find out, but the man deserves a fucking medal for his skills, because half a minute after the start he's already writhing on the bed and teetering on the edge of orgasm, every sensation enhanced by his overly full bladder and the piss that's slowly making his way down his urethra and -

"Shit. Stiles, stop, stop, I'm leaking, fuck, I'm sorry, I -"

"Yeah, so what? You really think I didn't expect that, with how full you are?"

Then he laps at what is dripping from his slit, a mix of precome and piss and saliva, and Derek keens, thrusts into Stiles's mouth while his whole body tingles with both pleasure and urgency, and he bites down on his own fist to stop himself from shouting out loud.

"Hey, none of that." The human chastises, crawling back up the bed and pulling his hand away. "I want to hear you, every noise. They're turning me on like crazy, so don't you dare hold back."

His fervent nod is rewarded with a filthy, open-mouthed kiss, and he can taste himself, pre-come and a hint of piss. His bladder contracts painfully and with a desperate moan he shoots a hand down between their bodies to squeeze his cock, need pulsing in every nerve-ending, every inch of skin oversensitized with how much he's torn between holding it and letting go, and Stiles seems to know exactly how he feels because his hands are roaming everywhere, caressing every hot spot and swallowing his moans and whispering in his ear to "Relax, Derek, just feel it, god, I bet it feels so fucking good."

He's right. It's a heady mix of pain and pleasure and desperation, and he's babbling, his befuddled mind trying to form coherent sentences.

"It does, fuck, it – I didn't know it could feel that way. Need you, god, need you to fuck me, Stiles, before I piss all over us both."

Stiles lets out a groan that's more animal than human, and in a second he's manhandled on his belly, cock a harsh line of pressure through the hard swell of his bladder, and he can't help but press his hips into the mattress, accentuating the sensation until he's overwhelmed with exquisite urgency, each burst of desperation blending into pure bliss. Then Stiles is spreading his asscheeks and licking all the way from his balls to the top of his crack and he gasps, arches his back to shamelessly present his ass like a bitch in heat.

"Do that again, fuck."

Stiles's tongue swirls around his hole for almost a minute before the tip finally slips inside and Derek is almost delirious by that time, hips thrusting back and forth between the human's mouth and the very welcome friction of the mattress on his steadily leaking cock, hole spasming and bladder screaming and babbling pleas of _more, deeper, faster, fuck_. He's almost in sobs by the time a finger breaches him and he raises on his knees to have some leverage, to fuck himself back against it.

"More, Stiles, more, please..." He shamelessly begs, abs and arms trembling, cock jerking every time he has to clench everything down to stop himself from pissing right there, because god, he needs to, doesn't know how he's going to make it through Stiles fucking him, but he wants it anyway.

The human is panting heavily behind him, whispering praises and encouragements and slowly rubbing his own rock-hard dick against the back of Derek's thigh, leaking copious amounts of pre-come that slicks the way and makes the werewolf hyper-aware of what it would feel like to be wet all over, should he choose to finally let go...

"You're doing so good, Derek, fuck. How long can you hold it?"

"Dunno..." He moans. "I'm so fucking full, if I wasn't so hard I'd have pissed the bed already."

"Then you'd better not come yet, yeah?"

Derek groans when Stiles scissors two fingers inside him, brushing against his prostate with every stroke, and he doesn't know if he's going to be able to wait, and which he needs most, to come or to piss, both needs warring in his belly and leaving him a shivering, gasping mess, clear fluid dripping steadily onto the sheets.

Then finally, Stiles cockhead is pressing against his entrance, and he holds still, knowing that it's better if the human controls the pace, because with the frenzied state he's in, he'd probably impale himself straight away on Stiles's cock and it would hurt, would probably jostle his unstable bladder, and he doesn't want that, not yet.

"That's it, Derek, relax, you're doing fine."

But Derek can't relax, because if he does, he'll piss all over the bed. His bladder has reached its limit, throbbing painfully and sending urgent signals all over his nerves at increasing frequency.

"Stiles, I can't, I can't hold it, I have to, god, I have to pee, _please_..."

"Shhh, okay, okay, I hear you. You're okay, Derek, don't worry, I'll take care of you."

He kisses the back of his neck and withdraws slowly, immediately stepping off the bed and helping Derek to his feet, bracing him with an arm under his shoulders when his legs threaten to collapse. They stumble the few steps to the ensuite bathroom, Derek's hand squeezed tight around his cock because he's sure he'd be spurting piss everywhere without it. Stiles pushes him into the large shower stall, sits down against the wall and makes him get down to his knees, straddling his lap.

"Let's try again, yeah?"

Derek nods jerkily and buries his head in Stiles's neck while the human expertly guides his cock back into his body, and he keens, jerks and moans until he's finally sitting on his thighs. He takes a minute to adjust and catch his breath, and then slowly starts to ride his cock, every movement a jolt to his distended bladder, and he stops, whining.

"Stiles, I can't..."

The human surges up to kiss him, one of his hand supporting his ass and encouraging him to move, the other trailing down his chest to settle once more over his stomach.

"Yes, you can. Ride me, Derek, ride me and let go when you need to, it's okay."

This time, he presses down firmly on the taut bulge under his hand and Derek cries out as piss sprays all over Stiles's torso, uncontrollable. He sobs and collapses against him, letting Stiles start fucking into him in short, hard thrusts, nailing his prostate on every upstroke, the hand that was pressing the piss out of him closing around his dick to jack him off hard and fast, and Derek wails, lets himself be fucked out of his mind until he either pisses or comes, whichever, as long as something _gives_ -

He comes with a shout, spurting semen all over Stiles's already wet skin, asshole clenching around his jackhammering dick, and then Stiles is coming too, his whole body going rigid and his hips thrusting one last time _hard_ into Derek before he stills and lets out a long, breathy moan as he empties his balls inside the werewolf's ass. That last thrust proves to be Derek's undoing and he can't do anything as the dam finally breaks and he starts pissing. It's only short bursts at first, muscles still clenched tight after hours of holding, but it soon turns into a powerful stream that rapidly soaks them both, and once the initial euphoria has passed, Derek realizes he's peeing all over Stiles, clumsily tries to get away from him, but the human is holding him still and keeping him close in a tight embrace even as he comes down from his own high.

"Shhh. Just let go, Derek, I know you need to, let it feel good. Fuck, you're so hot, babe."

There's no lie in Stiles's words, so he relaxes once more and moans as the torrent of piss only gets stronger, bladder finally emptying in the wake of one of the most spectacular orgasms of his life, the sensation similar to climaxing again, and he takes a hold of his dick to aim the stream first at Stiles, then at himself. Stiles keens and thrusts again, helplessly, and they both grunt as their oversensitive bodies spark with pleasure once more.

And then Stiles's softened dick is slipping out of his ass and he's pissing too, with a loud moan of relief, and Derek lets out a surprised gasp.

"God, Stiles, how long...?"

"From the start." The human answers, face slack with bliss. "You weren't the only one holding it, big guy."

And god, that mental image alone is enough for the werewolf to growl in lust again, thrusting his hips against Stiles's still spurting cock.

"Role reversal next time, Stiles. You up for it?"

"God yes."

When they're both finally done, they drift apart and take on the mess they made, piss and come and sweat drying on their skin, and they get up on shaking legs to start the shower and rinse off the evidence of their activities, washing each other's backs and exchanging soft kisses, not saying a word for a very long time.

Eventually, they get dressed and wander to the kitchen to satisfy another one of their primary needs, and it's when Derek is standing before the stove making pancakes for them both that Stiles finally speaks, voice uneven and hands flailing with nerves.

"Thank you, Derek. That was... I really, really liked it. I hope it wasn't too much, but if you don't want to do it again, I get it, really."

Derek sets the pan on the stove and rounds the counter with werewolf speed, pulling Stiles into a crushing hug.

"Did you miss the part where I came like a freight train, or the one where I asked for an encore?" He asks, kissing the side of his neck. "God, Stiles, what you're giving me, I've never had with anybody before. It's amazing. You're amazing." He takes a deep breath, and then meets the human's eyes, letting everything he feels show on his face. "I love you, Stiles. And I'm not saying it just for the sex, I'm saying it because you care about me all the time, you're always afraid of taking too much when in reality you're giving me all I need, and you make me feel complete."

And Stiles, Stiles just smiles beautifully and lets two perfect teardrops run down his cheeks.

"I love you too, you giant sap. Kiss me again."

******

When Scott comes by later unannounced to get back the jacket he had forgotten the night before, he walks in on them christening the kitchen counter.

They can hear him sputtering traumatized gibberish all the way back to his bike, and end up laughing so hard and for so long that Stiles wets himself a little.

Derek mocks him for a while, and then blows him all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you think!!


End file.
